It Takes Two Out-Takes
by amythis
Summary: A little more detail of the last of Angela and Tony's pasts. A sequel to "It Takes Two," which is rated T, while this is a mild M.
1. Chapter 1

"So, Angela, tell me about your #4."

"I've told you about him before."

"Not about your first time."

"Oh. You really want to know?"

"I really want to know."

…

…So we made it upstairs to my bedroom, without him throwing out his back, or any of the other interruptions we'd predicted. He set me gently on the bed and was about to join me, but I said, "Why don't you finish your strip tease up here?"

He said, "You got some twenties handy?"

I said, "No, but I can reward you in other ways."

He smiled. He had the most amazing smile. It was boyish but knowing. Electric but with a touch of melancholy, like he'd seen his share of sadness but was determined to smile anyway. It was the kind of smile that made everyone from dogs to babies to stern judges smile back.

So I smiled back. And my smile grew as he started to remove his jacket. I didn't sing this time, but he didn't seem to need accompaniment now. He always moved like he was dancing anyway. I can't explain it. Not grace exactly, and not quite a strut either. And when he did dance, when he danced with me, I forgot that I was the Connecticut Klutz.

So the strip was a dance of course. A solo dance just for my eyes. He'd had a job a few weeks before at a restaurant where the waiters dressed like Chippendale's dancers. He had been uncomfortable there, exposing himself to strange women. But he felt comfortable in front of me of course.

And he had a body that men half his age would envy. I'd seen him shirtless off and on, ever since the first night I knew him. But I enjoyed the view just as much that night as I had seven years before. As he unbuttoned his shirt, I could see his well-defined chest with a hint of hair blacker than on his head. And then his six-pack stomach.

You know I was never the kind of woman to choose a man just for his looks. Oh, I dated a few handsome men, my ex-husband among them. But my #4 had the kind of body that would've made me swoon even if it didn't contain the warmest heart and the sharpest brain I'd ever encountered. It was never just about lust with him, but lust was an element.

The shirt joined the jacket on the floor. He was usually very neat, but a little disarray was all right that night. I could now see his biceps and all those arm muscles, I could never remember the names. He had a way of flexing his muscles, so in character with how he was in general: playful, boastful, and yet almost shy. His flexed his arms and chest for me, and I grinned.

Then he took off his shoes. It's hard for a man to remove shoes while looking sexy—most of them remind me of Mr. Rogers—but he could. He still looked like a Roman god.

Then he said, "Do I gotta do the socks, too?"

I said, "Everything, Mister. As advertised."

"But, Angela, you know my feet get cold and it's December."

"It's probably January by now."

"We forgot our kiss at midnight!"

"Come over here."

So he did. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, a front-row seat. He bent forward and kissed me. He played with my hair and I stroked his muscles. I could feel his nipples harden at my touch, and my own responded empathetically.

Then I said, "The socks."

"Angela!"

"I'll warm your feet up with mine later. But first I want to see everything, head to toe."

"Your wish is my command," he said and reached down to one of his feet, supporting himself with one hand on the bed. He stripped off a sock and then another. I was glad that my bedroom was carpeted, unlike the living room.

He straightened up and started dancing again, now barefoot. He caressed his own chest and stomach, teasing me, and then he reached for his belt. He undid it and then swung it like a lasso. I giggled.

But I sobered up as I realized what was next. And his facial expression was that mix of shyness and boldness I knew so well. This time it meant, _You're going to see something you haven't before and I hope you like it. I'm pretty sure you will._

To my surprise, he then turned his back to me. His back was well defined, too, but my eyes strayed lower. His—

[Yeah, Angela?]

His, well, his derriere was perfect. Tight and firm, but it looked like it had some give to it.

[Give?]

You know, squeezable. It looked great in jeans, in swim trunks, in slacks like he was wearing then.

And then I heard him unzip the slacks. And he slowly lowered them. So now I could see his, well, bottom in his "skivvies" as he'd put it. And it looked even better.

And then he turned around and I got a good look at his, well, his crotch. Now obviously I hadn't ogled that as often, even after we became a couple. I've always been shy about such things, unlike Mother. And clearly, it would look different when it was more covered up. And when it was less, well, less friendly.

[How friendly, Angela?]

Like it couldn't wait to make my acquaintance.

"Hey," he said.

I forced myself to make eye contact again. "Hello."

"It's not too late to put in twenties, you know."

I laughed and shook my head. "If I go get my purse, I'm liable to give you all my credit cards."

"I won't tell your grandmother you said that."

"I don't think there's any part of this night that Nanna should know about. Or Mother."

"You know Mona. She wouldn't believe it anyway."

"I don't believe it."

"What, Angela? That I'm almost naked in front of you."

"That and that you look even better than I imagined."

That grin again. "You think I've got a good pair of legs?"  
>"Um, yes." Although I'd seen them often before.<p>

"You're wrong."  
>"No, they're very muscular, with just the right amount of hair."<br>"No, I mean I've got more than two."

"What do you—? Oh!"

If I was in any doubt of his meaning, he clarified by easing down the waistband of his skivvies. I bit my lip to keep from crying out at the sight of what I had imagined for years and thought I'd never see in reality.

"Angela?"  
>"Hmm?"<p>

"Can you warm my feet now?"

"I'll warm anything you like."

He laughed and came closer, swaying so that I was hypnotized. I thought he'd lie down next to me, but instead he put a foot in my lap. I knew what to do, from Jack's reflexology lessons. I could've eased from the toes (eyes and sinuses) on down but I went straight for the center of his heel.

"ANGELA!" he cried.

But I took no mercy, rubbing firmly and then teasingly and then firmly again.

"Baby, can you do both at once?"

I grinned. "I can try."

So he sat on the bed, with both feet in my lap, and I rubbed them simultaneously, trying not to get distracted by the dancing limb in my peripheral vision.

"Are they warm enough now?"

"They're on fire!"

"Good. Now you sit up," I said, pushing his feet off my lap.

"Where are you going?" he asked, because I'd moved off the bed and onto my feet.

"It's my turn to strip."

"Well, I can't give you twenties, since I don't seem to have any cash on me."

"It's the barter system."

"Well, then I think we can work out some interesting trades."

He was an athlete as well as a dancer, so he was at ease in his body his whole life. I always envied that. It took me a long time to be happy with my body. Some of the acceptance came with growing confidence in other areas, like my career. But much of it, I'll admit, came from his acceptance. No, more than that, his admiration. Almost from the first day we met, he looked at me with such admiration, affection, and, yes, sometimes lust. It was never creepy or intimidating, just warm and sometimes hot.

He'd seen me naked accidentally seven years before. I felt less self-conscious now of course, but I couldn't help being a little shy anyway. I'd gradually gotten used to wearing more revealing clothes, but there were lines I didn't cross. And I'd never stripped for a lover before. I'd sometimes had men undress me, and I'd sometimes taken off my clothes quickly in the dark and gotten under the covers before they could see much.

But I was prepared to stand naked before him, because he'd done it for me. At first, it was like when I got up in a nightclub and sang "Fever." I know I looked awkward as I took off my heels. But he smiled encouragingly, and a quick glance down at his crotch showed that I had his full attention and support.

So I took off my necklace with a little more confidence, although then I looked around, because I couldn't just drop it on the floor.

"Here," he said and held out his hand. So I gave it to him for safekeeping. He put it on, making me laugh, thinking of gold chains in the '70s, although I was married during the disco era.

My laughter relaxed me more, which was probably his intention.

"Hey, Baby, what's your sign?"

"Yield," I said, which wasn't the cleverest answer, but it made him laugh. Then, because I was standing near him, I said, "Can you do the top of my zipper?"

Even before we dated, I'd sometimes have him zip up my dresses, like he was my husband or housemate. Well, he was my housemate of course, and he had been my husband for a year, although neither of us knew it at the time. But I'd never had him move one of my zippers in the opposite direction.

"Sure," he said, but he sounded a little nervous, maybe at touching me when he was naked. But he eased my zipper down, and not just that stubborn top inch. He exposed my back and then lightly stroked it. "I've been ogling this since you first exposed it at a party. Or was it when you were going on a date with one of those forgettable guys in suits?"

"I don't remember," I murmured.

"But you didn't have this with those dresses." He tugged at the back of my bra, where the hooks were. I thought of how he'd once playfully snapped my bra strap, but this was more intimate of course.

I struggled to speak calmly. "No, with those dresses, well, they'd have built in support in the front. But with a strapless dress like this, well, I need a strapless bra."

"Show me," he whispered a little hoarsely.

So I moved away again, just out of reach. And then I let my black dress puddle on the floor.

"Mmm, Angela!"

I stood there in front of him, more exposed than I'd been at various beaches, because my swimsuits didn't show as much as that black bra did, or the matching French cut panties. I hadn't known if he would see this underwear that night, but I liked wearing it around him, my little secret. Now exposed.

"Very, very nice, Angela."

"Thank you. I thought I might as well coordinate my underwear with my dress."

"I'm not talking about the underwear, although that's nice, too."

Oh. I blushed, all over.

"Black and pink, a good color combination," he teased.

I wasn't wearing pantyhose, although I had considered doing hose and garters, but why go through the hassle of hose for what was supposed to be a quiet evening at home? So it was my bare legs that he was now ogling.

"You have a good pair of legs."

"Thank you. That makes five between us."

"Well, between your legs—I mean." He blushed, his olive skin turning red, yes, all over.

I came closer and turned my back to him.

"You look good from this angle, too."

"Thank you. Can you undo the hooks?"

"Sure."

I knew he knew about unhooking bras, of all sorts. I was hardly his first. But his experience by no means made him jaded.

[Hey, Angela, do you want to hear about my #18?]

I'd love to, Tony.


	2. Chapter 2

…It was taking all my restraint not to help her off with her clothes more than she asked for. But I knew she needed to do this her way. Even if that meant me ogling her, piece by revealed piece. And since I was naked, she knew exactly how much I was enjoying her display.

When she had been naked, years before, well, it's not like I'd been wearing a lot of clothes myself. I had a robe and slippers, a towel over my shoulder, and that was it. But at least the robe wasn't form-fitting, and I doubt she was looking at my crotch. But, boy, did I—well, "appreciate" probably isn't the right word. I mean, she looked amazing! But I was feeling at least as much shock as lust that time.

As the years went by, I tried to reimagine it with a happier ending. Maybe it could've happened when we weren't almost strangers. Maybe it could've been less of a shock on both sides. Maybe it could've happened after we'd been flirting heavily and she'd gone to take a bath afterwards, and I'd thought about a cold shower but decided I'd rather have a hot bath. Maybe she could get back in the tub and invite me to scrub her back.

Anyway. I was not feeling shock this night. I was stunned though. She was more beautiful than I remembered, than I imagined. I'd never seen a woman who was so feminine and curvy yet so long and lean. She had alabaster skin, which for years I'd been imagining next to my natural olive-ness. Even just holding hands with her, I loved the contrast. But now I was seeing her arms, her legs, and her shoulders, and I could visualize how they'd look next to mine.

After I unhooked her bra, she stepped away again, before I could caress her bare back. She turned around and let her bra fall to the ground, revealing high, perky breasts that looked both firm and soft. Her nipples were hard, which I'd suspected after she'd hardened mine. I forced myself not to reach out for her. Not yet. Not till she gave the word.

Sometimes I used to imagine undressing her, appreciating her bit by bit, lavishing attention on each exposed area until she'd beg me to expose and appreciate the next. But this night, it seemed like she wanted us both to be naked before we really touched each other. It was torture to wait, but wasn't that the story of our romance anyway? At least we were closer to what we'd been waiting for.

Before I could get enough of looking at her from the front, she turned her back to me. As much as I loved her back—and, yeah, that's an accidental pun— my eyes now traveled down to her curvy little—can I say it?

[Say it, Tony.]

Her curvy little ass. Her short skirts made me think about her legs, and what was between them, but that doesn't mean they didn't also make me think about her cute butt. And there it was, filling out the back of her one remaining item of clothing.

And then it wasn't remaining anymore. She bent forward and eased down her black French cut panties. I don't how I managed not to leap off the bed and grab her. It wouldn't have been very romantic of course, but I was having a hard time thinking romantically just then. Well, not romantic in that sense.

She stepped out of her panties and then turned to face me, with a shy but almost triumphant smile on her face. Yeah, I looked up at her face, to smile at her, to meet her eyes, because before, when we couldn't do anything, we used to exchange smoldering glances. And I still wanted that, too.

But soon my eyes couldn't resist moving down, along her curves and sleek lines. My eyes didn't make it down to her legs, incredible as those were. They stopped just above.

"Angela," I pleaded, "come to bed!"

"Are your feet cold again, Tony?"

"Yeah, all my body heat seems to be concentrating in one area."

"I'll have to do something about that," she teased.

So she glided back to the bed. I know she sometimes thought of herself as awkward and clumsy, but she was incredibly graceful right then. She was still graceful as she eased me back on the bed and wove herself around me.

She took one of my feet between both of hers, as she had years ago in a cold motel room with a natural skylight. But we'd been wearing pajamas then, and I was trying to be a good monk. Now there was nothing between us, and everything between us.

She moved her legs around mine, and I remembered her giving me swimming lessons. If I hadn't been so scared of water then, I'd have loved her holding me by the waist. I wasn't scared this night though, as she moved her hands onto my hips.

I kissed her for maybe the thousandth time. It was always good to kiss her, and to have her kiss me. But it'd never been like this before, pressed naked together.

Then she broke away, to get a condom for me. She hadn't been with anyone in years. My last was more recent but still long enough ago that I'd been tested. We hadn't discussed contraception, but I still had a few months left of school, and we weren't getting married till May.

"I'm on the Pill, too," she said.

"Good." I tried not to think of Marie. Or anyone really, although there were ghosts in that room. She'd been with only three men before me, but I had my moments of jealousy. Our talk had helped of course.

I was going to put the condom on myself, but she wanted to do it. And she may not have had a lot of experience, but she had a lot of imagination because, well, she didn't use just her hands to ease the rubber down.

I didn't tell her, in fact, you're the first person I'm telling, but the night I betrayed her, well, I didn't have sex. Well, it was a form of sex, but it was the woman dropping to her knees as I sat on the edge of the bed. I'd had women do that for me before, especially when I was a widower and meeting baseball groupies. But that night, I felt, I don't know, obligated. So I returned the favor. And I let the woman think we'd do "the real thing" some other time, which we did after we started actually dating. Not that she was complaining that night. She said I was very sweet.

She'd been only my #4 for that. Marie was first of course, because I loved her so much. And then Betty, because she liked to do everything. And then Frankie, because I thought she would become a serious girlfriend, except I think it helped convince her to try to make things really serious. And then, yeah, Kathleen.

But when Angela started licking me—Sorry, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, but I'm trying to be honest here—well, it was great. But I knew I wanted to do it to her first.

[Why?]

Why? Because I was crazy about her! Because I wanted to make her deliriously happy. Because I loved the sight and the feel and the taste and the smell of her skin.

[You just had to keep sticking your broken Roman nose into your boss's love life.]

Heh, yeah. So once the condom was on, much as I wanted to be inside her, I had to kiss her breasts and her thighs and between her thighs. Very between.

I wish she'd been my #3 for this, but it was worth the wait. And it was amazing to see her let go more than ever before, to unleash this in her. Not that she was just letting it happen to her. It was like she was pleasuring my face!

And we were making love. Not "sex," but in its own way very much the real thing. She'd look down at me looking up at her, like a goddess acknowledging her worshiper, but also like—well, this'll sound weird, but like a girl getting her first kiss.

I found out later that her ex-husband was the only one who had ever done this for her, usually as part of making up after a fight. Her #2 wasn't into oral, and she didn't feel right about it with her #3, although he'd probably have been up for it.

With me, she could relax, be herself. Go with the flow, so to speak.

After she came a couple times, she wanted to finish what she'd started with me, but I said, "Some other time. He wants to get acquainted with her now."

She nodded. "She wants that, too."

We knew who we meant by the pronouns. And so I introduced my best friend to her best friend, who was my new friend. We all hit it off.

[A happy foursome.]

Yeah, but we didn't exactly play golf. It was playful though, but also dead serious some of the time. After so many years of miscommunication, we had talked a lot of things out. And now our bodies did their own form of communication, some things that I can't verbalize even now. They spoke of our need for each other, and how good it felt to fulfil that need, but how the need seemed to still be growing. I know my friend had to keep returning to her friend, again and again, each time being warmly embraced.

[It was like they'd known each other forever.]

Yeah, but also like it was the first time ever with anyone. Not awkward or anything, but fresh, thrilling. And she kept surprising me, the way she'd move, and that built up its own dialogue, with questions and replies. And every thrust we gave was an I-love-you.

I'd kissed her. I'd necked with her. I'd hugged her. I'd danced with her. I'd exchanged smoldering glances with her. Again and again. And once I'd been lucky enough to see her naked. So I had the suspicion, the hope, that she would be absolutely incredible as a lover. And she was.

[Oh, Tony, so were you!]

Well, yeah, I'm Italian, what'd you expect?

[I love you!]

I love you. Anyway, that was my first time with my #18. And it only got better every time after that.

[Every time?]

Yeah, because each time I also had the memories of the previous times. And when you have 999 memories piling up, well, that makes for some unbelievable sex.

[I can't believe we've reached 1000 times already.]

Yeah, and it's been quality as well as quantity.

[Mmm, yes, it has.]

So, Angela, you wanna get started on the second batch of 1000?

[I've been ready ever since you started telling me about your #18.]

Well, I've been ready since you started telling me about your #4.

[Yes, I noticed.]

Why didn't you interrupt me?

[I'm a sucker for a good romance.]


End file.
